The GlassHouse Cabaret
by The Huntress and the Fairy
Summary: ONESHOT. He couldn't believe it. Why this cabaret? Why? Fate could not have been crueler. The anger within the room intensified....SM, AU


**AN: Hello to all! This is a oneshot. A really really...mangled...oneshot. It actually starts out really well, but because I was pressed for time and sanity due to the workload my school decided to throw out, I turned this in 2 months late to the SouMi Yahoo group that I originally wrote this for. The story is posted there as well. So enjoy...and don't get too worked up if you find that it may be a bit of a disappointing read.**

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_June 11, 1940_

"The Glass House Cabaret. A mini Versailles in its time. The most famous of burlesque actresses perform here, along with some rising stars. But the Cabaret, you see, is a sight in itself. Inspired by the French palace, most of the wall space is filled with mirrors, each of which is placed in a manner so that the only thing it reflects is whatever takes up the stage. When the lights are dimmed a sort of magic takes over the place…and your talent will help enhance that magic."

Megumi smiled warmly at her last statement, welcoming their new piano player. Soujiro Seta smiled in return.

"My improvisational skills won't disappoint you." Soujiro grinned. Megumi suppressed a shudder. The newcomer unnerved her. But he was all they could get on short notice, and he had requested an unusually low payroll.

"This is the instrument." Megumi waved her hand to her right, and Soujiro looked the piano up and down. It was starting to show a bit of wear. The keys were chipped and beginning to yellow. The pedals were tarnished and the wood needed a new finish. But it was a decent piano. "Rambacher and Ulrich" was stamped on the wood, indicating a good model. It would have been a highly expensive purchase in its day.

"Does it need tuning?" Soujiro asked lightly.

"I'd say. Last time we had a professional out here was three years ago."

Soujiro winced, and set down his briefcase. Snapping it open, he revealed an array of tools. He sat down on the velvet covered bench, and gently stroked the keys, as if absorbing their story. Then he pressed down. The sound was ghastly, at least to Soujiro's trained ear. To Megumi the note didn't strike much of an impression. But the look of anguish on Soujiro's face told her that the piano was in more disrepair than she imagined.

"Shall I leave you, Mr. Seta?"

"Yes…yes. This will take…quite some time."

About an hour later, Soujiro was on his last key, a G that he had skipped over due to the difficulty it posed. He looked up briefly at the stage where a red-headed man named Kenshin was reciting his lines for his Master of Ceremonies role. He looked back down at the keys as he heard the familiar sound of high heels sauntering across the stage. She began her number.

"I'm gonna sit right down and write myself a letter-"

Soujiro was familiar with the song. An older tune. 1935, if he wasn't mistaken. He kept beating on the G, trying to fine tune the string inside the piano. It just wouldn't cooperate.

"-And make believe it came from you…"

She sounded annoyed now, whoever she was. Soujiro was getting annoyed too. That goddamned G! He beat more forcefully on the key, listening as hard as he could and leaning in closer toward the string inside the piano.

"I'm gonna write words so sweet, they're gonna knock me off my feet!"

She was singing louder, trying to drown out Soujiro's monotonous beat.

"A lot of kisses on the bottom, I'll be glad I got 'em!"

Soujiro began to play the key faster, hoping the changed tempo would offer some clues to the key's stubbornness.

"I'M GONNA SMILE AND SAY, 'I HOPE YOU'RE FEELING BETTER', AND CLOSE 'WITH LOVE' THE WAY YOU DO!"

Soujiro slammed the case closed and looked up at the singer, shouting "Damn it!" at the exact instant she did. He glared at her, pushing his fedora further back on his head to get a better view of the girl. He was not prepared for the sight that greeted him.

It was Misao.

Misao's composure faltered only a moment before she pulled her dressing robe tighter around her and scolded him.

"Are you quite done?" she exclaimed, "I'm trying to rehearse!"

"And I'm trying to fix your accompanying instrument! You wanna sing a cappella, Prima Donna?"

"I'm doing that now, aren't I?"

"Yeah, but you're lousy." He snapped back. Oh, this brought back memories. Lots and lots of memories. He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. Why? Why this cabaret? He could hear her shouting at him, but he tuned her out. Just like old times.

"Misao, he's new. He's had a really rough start, that piano's been out of tune for years." Megumi chided gently, smoothing out her employee's ruffled feathers. She shot a pleading look at Soujiro that said everything he already knew: Misao was a psychotically vain actress. Don't mess around with the star of the show.

Soujiro was so angry he didn't realize that somehow, inadvertently, he had correctly tuned the G. His work, for the moment, was done. Now he could sit down and actually play, showcasing his talents. Smiling, he sat down at the bench and struck a few chords.

"From the top, Miss." Soujiro started out the melody for her. Misao was still giving him the death glare that he remembered all too well. He smiled in return. After her act, she was followed up by a woman named Koaru, a comedy skit involving the Master of Ceremonies and a small acrobat named Yahiko. After that, Soujiro lost count and stopped paying attention to names. He had decided to quit as soon as possible. There was no way he could stay.

Soujiro wove his way backstage, melding into the busy scene. He tapped on the door with the bright star, interrupting a scream of "You mean you bought the WRONG SIZE?"

"Come in!" The voice snapped. Soujiro sauntered in and sat himself down in the corner, admiring a wardrobe full of furs and silks. Misao was finishing up an argument with a costume expert who had, unfortunately, bought a corset a size too small. When she saw him out of the corner of her eye, Soujiro watched in amusement as her jaw clenched and she pursed her lips in irritation. Deciding to irritate her further, Soujiro helped himself to the bowl of cherries on her side table, and propped his feet up on the plush stool beneath his chair.

"How the hell…! Why…! You little…!" She could do nothing but exclaim short bursts of sentences, never completing a one. Soujiro felt his grin grow wider.

"Don't worry, Makimachi. I'm quitting as soon as I get the chance. Just give me a week so I won't look suspicious; I'll tell them my grandfather is dying, or something of the sort…"

"You bastard!" She spat. "Always running away."

"Yes, to save your face."

"My face! What about yours?"

"Reputation doesn't bother me that much." Soujiro shrugged, still grinning. "Besides, there will always be something new for me. Cities rise and fall. No bad marks will precede me. I'm just a lowly piano man, roaming around to find a few steady gigs. No glamour or romance for me."

There was a pause.

"I hate you."

Soujiro was surprised. Misao had barely whispered the three words, without any anger or malice, but with an air of defeated, bitter hostility.

"You used to sing a different tune."

"Oh. _Very_ witty."

"I'm just saying. Hey…you cut off the braid." As he stood, Soujiro's hand reached out to run across the fringe of her hair. Misao jerked back, scowling. Soujiro felt completely numb, his face muscles quivering as his smile began to freeze up.

"Stop that." Misao hissed with disgust. Soujiro said nothing. "Stop smiling, dammit!" Misao smacked him as hard as she could. He turned back from the impact with his lips turned up slightly, threatening another cruel smirk. Misao was panting with anger, hot tears running down her cheeks.

"I hate you." she hissed again. "I hate you…you and your goddamn smile..." Her hand shot out, grabbing his jaw, her nails digging into his lips. "Not everything is as funny as you think it is."

"Funny? I never said anything was funny."

Misao drew in a long, decisive breath. There was no use in bickering. They'd be there all night. She reluctantly let go of his jaw.

"I ought to just kick you in the balls, you son of a bitch. That'd get you on your knees…"

"Go ahead. Render me incapable of procreating, why don't you? That would ease your mind. I -SHIT!" Soujiro doubled over, almost as Misao had predicted. She stomped away, satisfied, but Soujiro grabbed her ankle as he keeled over onto the floor.

"You…actually, KICKED me…" Soujiro wheezed. Misao spat out a few feathers that had wedged into her mouth as a result of falling on her face while wearing a boa. She growled, and began flailing her legs to throw off Soujiro's grip. He didn't relent. Instead he pulled himself over her, holding Misao's arms down on either side of her. She didn't give up: thrashing her head around, she sought a vulnerable area to bite.

"Hmmm. I don't know why exactly..." Soujiro chuckled to himself, quietly as he restrained the raucous Misao.

"Why what?" She spat., trying in vain to push him off of her.

"Why it had to end this way."

"I wouldn't dwell on it. We've got our reasons. Don't we, darling?" She growled the last word, mocking the years of demolition and independent spirits battling one another.

"I dunno, what about you?"

"Get off of me, you son of a-"

Soujiro kissed her deeply. _That_ was why they had been together once. Misao's thought train stopped immediately and she felt herself respond almost eagerly to his touch.

"What do you say, baby? Third time's the charm." Soujiro laughed as he kissed her throat. Misao was left breathless, staring blankly at the ceiling. Trying to recover her senses, she shook her head.

"What the hell. We were always violently passionate for one another." She shrugged, knotting her fingers into her lover's hair.

"Extremely violent." Soujiro agreed.

"So, you're staying, right?"

"Right. You take back the 'I hate you'?"

"Right." Misao sighed. "Lock the door, will you?"

"Sure thing."

It took them a moment, but they were able to separate long enough for Soujiro to get up and lock the door, and for Misao to climb into bed.

_Just like old times._


End file.
